


Simple Thing

by SoldierOfMyShadowyMind



Series: Skies over Brooklyn [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bucky is a tramp, Clint Needs a Hug, Clint swears off love, Clint's boyfriend is a twat, Friendship, Humour, I know Steve's birthday isn't in November, M/M, Nat is a sneaky bugger, Steve and Tony have issues, Steve is a good friend, Tony Stark is being Tony Stark, bunch of fluff, it's fucking November, musical!Clint, pizza dog!, sniper husbands, sort of, steve's birthday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 22:50:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4805111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoldierOfMyShadowyMind/pseuds/SoldierOfMyShadowyMind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“He’s been hurt badly. He needs time to himself.”<br/>“He needs a bloke for a good night” Tony returns with an expert expression on his face. “Trust me, I know what’s the best cure for these situations.”</p>
<p>Clint has sworn off love. Or, well, he thinks he has.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Simple Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the songs “Somewhere Only We Know” by Keane and “Friends” by Aura Dione.
> 
> I more or less accidentally stumbled over the Winterhawk ship but fell in love it immediately (because I mean, why not, they're cute little shits) and yeah, well, guess I'm officially on that ship now. So, I tried something myself. Actually, I don’t ship Stony but felt the need of including it here for good measure. Also, sorry about the alternating perspectives but this kind of developed a life of its own and apologies for any mistakes, too.
> 
> The song Clint sings is "Somewhere Only We Know" by Keane (man, I kept listening to that song all the time during my writing sessions).
> 
> Here we go!

The slamming of the door makes Steve jump. The loud noise echoes painfully in his poor, overstrained ears and he’s halfway up from the chair he’s sitting on when he hears a hiss, something being tossed to the floor, and another door being slammed shut. Steve remains in his admittedly uncomfortable position for a moment longer, his mouth stopping halfway in the movement of opening in order to say something. He shakes his head, drowning out the noises that seep into the kitchen through the open window and blinks a few times. He’s had a terrible night. Can be grateful Clint’s let him spend the night at his after he couldn’t bear stay at his own after the fight with Tony. The… seventh in three days? Steve’s lost count. He’s barely slept the past week and he genuinely feels like crap. A glance to the ticking old-fashioned clock on the wall (Steve likes it, likes the way Clint’s apartment is not as modern and crammed with fancy technological super-inventions as Tony's) tells him that it’s already well past midday. His eyes dart back to the table where his breakfast is still sitting patiently on the table top. Hearing a silent whine he looks down at Lucky, who’s sneaked into the kitchen, head tilted and squinting back at him. Steve throws a tired, questioning glance at his reflection in the window, then turns and shuffles down the corridor, stopping at the door to Clint’s bedroom.

He knocks. “Clint?”

A muffled sound comes through the closed door but Steve can’t make out any words. He tries the knob. The door’s locked.

“Clint? You all right?” He presumes he’s not, judging by the way his friend stormed into the flat but asking won’t hurt, now will it? “Clint, open the door” he pleads, hand coming up to wipe his eyes but ends up raking all over his face and finger-combing through his tousled hair. All Steve wanted was one quiet night. Plus the morning afterwards. What he got? A yelling not-quite boyfriend and a grumpy friend he’s actually hoped to spend a day with that’ll cheer him up and take his mind off the constant fights.

“Go away, Steve” he perceives the voice wafting towards him through the gap between door and floor.

Steve tries it one more time. “Hey, buddy, come on, I only wanna help. Tell me, what’s the matter?”

His answer is less polite and a trifle startling.

The door gets ripped open and Steve stumbles back a few steps, eyes on Clint’s face that appears in the half open door for a couple of seconds.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he rasps, but Steve’s attention is focused on his friend’s eyes that don’t quite match the angry tone. He thinks to see water pool in them and they’re faintly red-rimmed.

“Just _go_ ” Clint manages through gritted teeth and when the door falls shut again Steve can tell, Clint is very peeved and very hurt.

 

* * *

 

 

Clint’s clearly had enough. He’s fed up. He’s fed up with being fed up. He’s done. Over with.

_Screw it._

Why does it always have to end this way? It was going good, _they_ were going good, even had plans to move in together and now this. Clint can’t believe it, his brain still refuses to process the information his eyes have gifted him with. It’s unbelievable. Forgoes every understanding. He won’t ask why people do these things because why do people do anything? Because they _can._ That’s what his boyfriend’s thought, apparently. It’s been their six months anniversary lately and what does Clint find when he enters the apartment this sunny morning? A man in the kitchen. Shirtless, messy hair, cheeky half-apologetic smile on his stupid face, making coffee. Making coffee for _his_ boyfriend. And then _he_ walks into the kitchen, missing the same clothes as the other guy, and wraps his arms around the stranger. Clint’s stood there, mouth agape and staring at the scene before his eyes. It took his boyfriend – _ex_ -boyfriend to be precise– a whole bloody minute to realise that he’s been caught cheating. And when he did, he didn’t even _try_ to look sorry. Just raised his arms up in defeat, giving Clint a glance that roughly told him _Sorry, couldn’t resist._ Hadn’t he been so rooted to the spot with shock and surprise Clint would have punched him right in the face. He really wishes now he’d done that because he’s just so fucking angry. Should have seen this coming. Or at least realise that he wasn’t the only one sleeping in that bed. Clint didn’t even bother to ask how long this has been going on because he doesn’t really need an answer. It’s over no matter what flimsy excuse his ex could have come up with. The fact that he didn’t even come up with _something_ makes Clint all the more furious and he clenches his fists until the knuckles turn white.

The sad part of the story is that this isn’t the only _incident_ Clint has walked in on. It isn’t the first time a relationship ends this way. Mostly it ends right after the first date (he’s been through more disastrous dates than he can count so he’s given up on expecting _anything_ from a situation like that) but if it turns out to work and develops into more it soon turns out to not work because either the other’s cheating on him and covering it up real bad or they end up fighting over the most irrelevant things on every occasion until Clint finally just walks out, ending it then and there.

He begins to think he’s cursed, not capable of _keeping_ anyone, of bloody holding his bloody life together. Not that he’s had many people in his life but he’s got enough stories to tell and he’s sick of it. Why can’t it work out just one time? He just needs the right one but this someone simply doesn’t feel the necessity of crossing his way.

Clint hates this saying that time will heal all wounds because it bloody well doesn’t. Time only makes it worse as far as Clint is concerned. Time means new beginnings, new tries, new fights, new fails, new break-ups, more pain. So now, Clint solemnly swears to himself (he doesn’t dare look in the mirror, he doesn’t want to see the state he’s in) to never fall in love again. Ever. Never even try and go out with someone. No dates. Even if Natasha will push him into it he’ll stand his ground and stay where he is. And what he is. A sad, lonely, single loser who is too naïve to even dare question the faithfulness of others. Staying alone will solve all his problems. Or at least most of them. Okay, some. But it’s better than reliving this again. Everything is better than having your life screwed up over and over again. And he doesn’t need love, now does he? Because whatever happens, at least he’s got his friends. (One of which he’s just effectively upset.)

Clint buries his face in the pillow and bites back the tears. No. He won’t cry over this asshole of a man.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When there’s a knock at the door Clint growls, drawing the pillow over his face and prepared to throw the closest item he can grab at whoever enters his room now.

“Clint? It’s me. Can I come in?”

That’s novelty. Natasha never asks, she just _does._ Clint’s known her for he can’t remember how long and he’s used to it but still laughs at the stories Sam tells him every time they meet for an outing or an evening at one of their places. Sometimes it’s just Clint and the two of them, sometimes Steve joins them, and, when it’s going good, he brings Tony along. Clint still isn’t sure what to make of this weird guy but he figures he can come to like him if he and Steve would just sort out their non-existent problems and stop being too petty-minded to see what’s good for them.

Clint sighs and apparently Natasha takes the half-choked sound he makes as an invitation because the door opens and she enters. The pillow she gets thrown at her head misses its aim only because she ducks away which draws a hiss from Clint’s lips.

“Steve said-” she begins but Clint doesn’t grant her a full sentence.

“Steve can fuck off.” He knows he’s being rude but right now he doesn’t really care. He’s experienced too much rudeness towards himself, he’s granted to spread a bit himself. Steve must have called Nat and who knows perhaps she’s given up a cosy day with Sam just to come over and look after her incapable idiot of a best friend.

Natasha ignores his rough comment and sits down on the edge of the bed he’s still lying on. Hasn’t left since he came home. “What happened?” she asks and Clint can hear the unspoken words hanging in the air, _this time_. Because there’s never nothing akin to shit in his life.

Clint just turns away from her, facing the wall to his left. Does he really need to spell it out? He’d rather not. He’d rather just lock himself in his room and only come out when the world’s started turning the other way round.

But of course Nat guesses what’ going on. As always.

Clint has an inkling as to what will come next and in order to prevent it he mumbles, “Don’t say it.”

Natasha sighs and reassuringly pats his arm. “I won’t say _I told you_ but I really feel like doing exactly that.”

Clint swats her hand away, groaning angrily. “Now you did exactly that, thank you very much” he harrumphs and shoots her a killing glance. Bugger. She was right. She _is_ bloody damn right. Clint remembers Nat trying to tell him that this lad wasn’t good for him, that he’ll only cause suffering but as always Clint just wouldn’t listen and as bloody always she was right. Natasha has a nose for this. Clint just wonders why she hasn’t found his Mr Right for him yet.

“It’s better this way” she says and Clint guesses it’s supposed to sound encouraging but the tone doesn’t have the wanted effect on him.

Anything would have been better than finding him sleeping with some other guy.

For no apparent reason, at least not one Clint can pluck from the windings of his brain, he finds himself announcing, “I’ve sworn off love.”

He has. Some people swear off the scotch or smoking and he swears off love. It’s as simple as that. End of story.

Natasha destroys his illusion.

“You know that’s not possible.”

“Shut up, Tasha.”

“Clint” she sighs, exhaling deeply.

Clint knows he’s a hopeless case but he’s made his peace with it and so should Natasha.

She gets up, her steps aiming for the door. Once again she pauses, turns, and asks matter-of-factly, “You’re not intending on staying here for the rest of the week, are you?”

Clint eventually turns to face her. “No” he replies in the same tone. “I’m intending on staying here for the rest of my useless life.”

His words draw another exasperated sigh from her lips but she leaves him, anyway.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Clint, come on” Natasha’s voice sounds over the phone. “It’s Steve’s birthday. You can’t leave him hanging like that.”

“I told you I won’t-”

“Stop the crap and get your ass over here. Now.”

Clint vainly waves his hands at the empty room, fingers slicing through the frozen air. Couldn’t Steve have at least picked another month for his first glimpse of sunlight? It’s November and Clint hates November. Cold, freezing, grouchy people everywhere he looks, dissatisfied customers, rain dripping into the back of his coat, running down from his neck and stealthily and meanly soaking into his clothes. It’s barely four in the afternoon and the streetlamps are already switched on. Some craftsman’s been at the heating lately, allegedly repairing it. Well, he did an outstanding job. Clint frowns at the wall, trying to ignore the cold creeping into his bones.

Natasha sounds decisive and Clint knows he can’t duck out of this. Steve is his friend, after all.

“Who else will be there?” he asks, just to say something and also because he isn’t in the mood for one of Stark’s parties. And for all he knows this man might have not been able to keep his twitchy fingers from indulging in organising a surprise birthday party for his on-and-off boyfriend.

“Just the usual suspects” Nat informs him. “Me and Sam, Tony, Steve of course, Bruce, probably Phil, some friends of Tony’s. And you.”

_Some friends of Tony’s._ Splendid. This is just going to be what Clint really doesn’t need now. Nevertheless, he agrees, if reluctantly. With Phil there’d be at least one sane person to talk to. “All right. I’m coming over. But don’t expect me to stay for longer than an hour or two.”

“Thank you” he hears Natasha say and Clint spots the mocking, yet relieved undertone in her voice.

“Oh, and Clint” she says a second before he can hang up.

Clint quirks an eyebrow, knowing that she can’t see it but the silence is her invitation to speak, telling her that he’s listening.

“I know you probably don’t want to hear this but I know a guy, he’s a really nice chap, I’m sure you’d like him-”

“You’re absolutely right” Clint cuts her off. “I don’t want to hear any of that.” And on that note he hangs up.

Christ, is this _never_ going to stop? This is the third time Nat tries to set up a date for him after the break-up. It’s been five weeks now and Clint hasn’t changed his mind. He’s sworn off love once and for all. No matter how hard Nat tries to persuade him into meeting some lad. He doesn’t want it and he doesn’t need it. Full stop.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

When Clint arrives at Steve’s he already hears the music when he rounds the corner. Of course the surprise had been spoiled before Tony could even make it a surprise since the whole place is decorated and probably Tony spent weeks on planning this. Clint’s just surprised they didn’t decide to hold the party at Stark’s posh residence.

He is greeted with a hug from everyone he knows.

“Thanks for coming, I know you’re having a rough time” Steve says quietly, understandingly.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s all right, man.” Clint pats him on the back. He hates people pitying him.

Turns out Phil couldn’t come. Quarrel with some cellist from Portland, apparently.

The first hour drags on so slowly Clint thinks he can hear the minutes tick by. Tony makes a show of nearly everything tonight and Clint is already getting tired where he’s retreated into a corner of the living room, a bottle of beer in his hands that’s probably been cold when Steve was a kid. Taking a sip of the lukewarm drink he lets his gaze meander across the room, lazily observing the crowd. He spots Nat leaning against Sam while the two are talking to Bruce and laughing. In the doorway to the kitchen Steve is miserably acting trying to escape a sloppy kiss from Tony. Everyone is enjoying themselves. Well, almost everyone. Clint leans back against the back of the sofa and redirects his eyes to look out of the window and watch the cars rushing by, splashing water everywhere when they jolt through the almost knee-deep puddles.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“What’s happened to our Legolas, he’s morphed into grumpy cat tonight?” Tony raises both eyebrows theatrically, gesturing towards Clint who hasn’t moved from his position at the back of the room ever since he arrived.

“Leave him, Tony.” Natasha grabs his arm to hold him back. “It’s been hard enough luring him here so don’t mess it up.”

“You need to relax, and so does he. Drink beer, grab a dance, have fun.” Tony swivels around when two of the party folks shove past him, drinks in hand. Natasha snorts when she catches him looking intently at the woman’s hips.

“This is a birthday party, for God’s sake!”

“Tony” Natasha scolds him. “He’s been hurt badly. He needs time to himself.”

“He needs a bloke for a good night” Tony returns with an expert expression on his face. “Trust me, I know what’s the best cure for these situations.”

“Says the one who can’t decide whether or not he’s dating Steve.”

“I’m not the one who can’t decide! If that’s what Steve’s told you then he’s making shit up!”

Nat just shakes her head but she smiles benevolently and leaves the rich genius standing in the kitchen, ignoring the “Can’t help those who don’t wanna be helped” he calls after her.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He doesn’t hear the doorbell ring but he does notice the surprised, choked sound that comes from the kitchen and he glances up, only half-interested, to find Steve gawking at the door. Or better say the person standing on the threshold. Clint’s eyes follow Steve’s and he takes in the sight of a man stood in the open door, soaking wet, small water droplets escaping his long brown hair and falling on his face and on his coat. There’s a shy smile playing around his mouth and he looks almost apologetic.

“Bucky!” To Clint’s surprise Natasha leaves Sam’s side to walk over to the dripping man to greet him. She doesn’t give him a hug, though (understandable), but Clint can tell she would have hadn’t it been for the puddle forming at the man’s feet.

“Hey, Nat” the guy says and throws her a brilliant smile.

“Bucky?” This voice belongs to Steve, his tone full of disbelief. He, too, slowly makes a few steps towards the door to join the little party there.

Clint sits back, enjoying this little entertainment. Steve’s face is a battlefield of emotions and he looks as if he can’t decide whether to punch this Bucky in the face or hug him.

“Hi, Stevie.”

Finally Steve regains his ability to speak properly. “Where the hell have you been?!”

Bucky hides his shy smile in the scarf he’s wearing and murmurs something that sounds like, “Here and there.”

Clint raises a brow at Natasha but she just grins winningly. If this was a surprise then it bloody damn worked.

Steve now reaches to close the door, his initial confusion wearing off. “Let’s get you some clothes to change into and then you can dry off, you tramp.”

Bucky smiles again and they disappear into the bedroom. Clint could have sworn Tony made a pouting face at the two. However, he scrambles to his feet and saunters over to Nat who’s reclaimed her place at Sam’s side. Sam has his arm wrapped around her shoulders and whispers something into her ear just as Clint reaches them. Whatever Sam’s said makes her grin and the smirk lingers when she catches sight of Clint.

“Who is he?” Clint doesn’t beat about the bush, he’s genuinely curious.

The grin grows even wider when Nat explains. “Bucky Barnes, he’s Steve’s long lost best friend.”

When Clint just blinks confusedly, she adds, “They know each other since childhood, went to school together, fought in the army together, but unlike Bucky, Steve left service. That’s when they first lost track of each other. But just for about a year and half because Bucky had to quit as well due to a major injury but after Tony took care of that he simply disappeared into thin air. Literally. No one has seen him since.”

“You have, apparently” Sam interjects, quirking a brow.

“That was purely coincidental” Nat returns, sounding the slightest bit defensive. “I’ve only known him for a short time, didn’t know him before I met Steve. Which was after Bucky had gone AWOL.”

Clint is still trying to piece together the information of that sentence when Steve appears at Natasha’s other side.

“Didn’t know you knew Bucky.”

“Didn’t know he knew you until he told me.”

“How did you meet him?” Steve eyes her, and there’s something in his expression Clint can’t quite read. He almost looks as if he blames Natasha for Bucky’s decision to stay unnoticed for another couple of weeks after his apparent return to New York.

“Ran into him at a coffee shop. Accidentally spilled my coffee all over him and well, one thing led to another and we started talking.” Natasha looks at him with her best innocent face and Steve cracks a smile.

“Well, then, guess I have to thank you for bringing home my best friend.”

“Hey guys.”

They all turn at the voice suddenly breaking the short silence. Bucky’s standing there, hands in pockets and still that smile on his lips that Clint can’t help but find terribly _cute._ He’s wearing a grey hoody of Steve’s now and his hair is completely messed up from his trying to dry it with a towel.

Which just makes him look even cuter. Clint bites his lip.

“I’m Bucky” Bucky says by way of explanation and extends a hand into the round.

“Sam” Sam shakes it, introducing himself.

When Bucky’s eyes dart towards Clint, he hastily mumbles, “’m Clint.” He can feel Natasha’s eyes on him and he flushes.

Finally it’s Sam who breaks the silence that is growing uncomfortable for Clint when he says, his words directed at Steve and Bucky, “Well, I guess you two have some stories to share. We’d better leave you to that. I’m starving, anyway.” And he drags Natasha away into the kitchen.

Clint fidgets with his fingers, trying to figure out what triggered his sudden nervousness. “Well, yeah…” he voices lamely, his throat scratchy. Without further explanation he spins around and resumes his former position on the sofa at the back of the room. Thankfully, no one follows him and he can retreat back into his shell again that just cracked a little when the party was stirred up by Bucky’s sudden appearance. Now he builds up his defence walls again and takes to nursing his beer.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Hey, do you mind if I join you?”

The sudden sound at his right startles Clint. He sits up straight from where he has been crouched on the sofa, on the verge of dozing off to dreamland. His head shoots up and almost collides with Bucky’s who is just about to squat down next to him. The kind smile he’s faced with leaves him speechless for the best part of ten seconds until he superfluously and belatedly says, “Course not.”

Bucky just smiles again and there’s a hint of cheekiness in his eyes. When he slides into the space next to Clint he takes his hands out of the pockets of his jeans and Clint can see what Tony took care of. The metal of his left hand glistens in the dim light filling the room. He could ask but he doesn’t dare. He doesn’t really want to know either, and it would be rude bringing up the topic so shortly after they met, wouldn’t it?

Bucky doesn’t notice his eyes slide downwards or he’s very good at pretending because he puts down his bottle of beer on the table in front of them and simply says, “Clint, right?”

Clint nods, stupidly. “Yes, that’s me.”

“Not enjoying the party?” comes the question combined with an enquiring sideways glance. It’s not asked out of sheer curiosity, rather… friendliness.

Clint blinks, his mind still trying to figure out how to control his mouth and speak. “Er, well, I don’t really like these occasions.”

He falls silent again, stealthily watching the man to his right, but Bucky doesn’t say anything further. Clint already starts to feel uncomfortable again when Bucky grabs his beer, takes a sip and casually says,

“Natasha said that you might not be talkative and I guess she was right.”

The grin that emerges on his face and twitches at the corner of his lips has Clint frenziedly searching for words but instead of saying something sensible, he just blurts, “She told you about me?” It’s out before Clint has the time to even realise that he’s said that out loud.

Bucky laughs and Clint frowns.

“Yes, and I was curious to meet the chap who’s apparently the best shot at the east coast as long as it’s bow and arrow.”

“You’d be surprised” Clint remarks and earns himself an inquisitive glance, complete with a cocky smirk. He tries to hold it but gives in after only a few seconds because he’s a weak ninny.

 

They talk and as time passes by Clint learns that they actually have much in common. Both of them were snipers in the army and Bucky agrees when Clint tells him that he’s never going to get rid of his instincts. They both don’t like crowds and they both think Steve’s an idiot for staying with Tony when all he gets is trouble and that Tony is a dick for doing this to Steve and that he should be grateful that Steve still wants him. Clint laughs when Bucky tells him his middle name, declaring that _Buchanan_ can’t really be a name. In return Bucky doesn’t find _Francis_ that hilarious but snickers at the sound of Clint _on_ Bart _on_ , saying that Clint made the right decision cutting off the ending. Bucky tells him story after story about the time he’s been away – travelling apparently – and Clint listens and it doesn’t get boring. The calm Bucky’s radiating somehow rubs off on him because he feels more comfortable the longer they sit there and talk and when he catches Nat’s gaze once he can tell that she’s relieved that he’s finally let himself be enticed out of his shell and swapped his grumpy mood for a laugh and a smile. Clint wouldn’t have thought that a stranger could actually do that to him but Bucky’s not an entire stranger, not anymore, and he never really was seeing as he’s Steve’s best friend. Clint starts to enjoy Bucky’s company and his warm smiles and the nervousness from earlier when they met has dissolved and he’s simply feeling good.

 

“What’s his name?” Bucky asks when they finally reach _that_ topic.

Clint has tried to avoid it as best as possible over the evening but he realises he can’t escape the inevitable.

“He doesn’t need a name, he’s a dick” he snorts.

Bucky laughs quietly and he doesn’t manage to completely cover the mocking undertone in his soft voice when he presses a little, “Okay then, what did _Dick_ do?”

It’s an honest question but Clint just rolls his eyes at him. Does he really need to say it? He kind of feels as if he’s gone through this situation already.

“He cheated on me” he relents, and as an afterthought adds, “and I guess it wasn’t the only time he did.”

“You know what?” Bucky says and Clint looks at him, very well aware of the hand on his shoulder. “Dick is a dick.”

They both laugh at that and then clank bottles and the topic’s done with and Clint silently loves Bucky for not trying any therapeutic everything’s-gonna-be-fine strategies on him. This man seems to be of the rare sort of people who simply understand but without saying so every two seconds. Clint feels somewhat relieved that Bucky hasn’t said anything about his sexuality, never even quirked a brow and he didn’t have that look in his eyes that most people get when they find out about him. But considering that his best friend’s got a boyfriend, too, Clint assumes this isn’t new to Bucky.

 

The initial hour he intended to stay has morphed into seven and it’s three in the morning when Clint yawns for what feels like the thirtieth time in a minute and Bucky says, “You need a shut-eye, my friend.”

Clint likes the way Bucky calls him _my friend_ but he protests as he feels the bottle being taken from his hand. There’s a whole armada of beer bottles on the table in front of them but neither of them is drunk. Turns out Steve’s not the only one who can drink you under the table without even feeling the slightest bit tiddly himself. Bucky seems to be a serious rival on that territory.

“I’m not tired!” Clint tries but his voice denies him full service and it comes out slightly slurred.

“You don’t say” Bucky laughs quietly and Clint likes the way he does that. He’s never encountered a man that honest. “You’re sleeping already.”

“I’m just resting my eyes” he offers meekly but knows it doesn’t sound even near convincing.

“Of course you are. Come on, we’ll get you home.” The Brooklyn accent seeps into Clint’s mind that’s halfway drifted off already and he feels his lips form a lazy smile.

The next thing he feels is arms being wrapped around him and he’s lifted from the couch. When his feet hit the floor he stumbles but then gets a grip on himself and tries not to shudder under Bucky’s touch.

“Nat?” he hears Bucky call out. He still hasn’t moved his hands away and even the metal one is resting warm and reassuringly on Clint’s side.

“Are you leaving? Because I think yours is nearer to him than mine so could you take him with you?”

Clint doesn’t hear the answer and he’s not even pondered this train of thought to an end that he’d rather have Bucky taking him home because a clattering noise right next to him tortures his damaged ears and the next second he feels cold liquid hit his skin and he might have screeched. Now wide awake Clint stares at the mess at his feet and at Tony next to him, his hands still in place in mid-air, just the tray that has been sitting on them has gone south and with it all its occupants, namely half-filled glasses he’s been collecting around the room. He hears Bucky hiss at his side, apparently he hasn’t been spared the second bath this evening.

“Aw, Tony, no!” Steve calls out as he rushes over.

“Well, I guess you two won’t be leaving any time soon” Sam says with a glance towards Clint and Bucky who are both glaring angrily at Tony.

 

It ends up with Bucky and Clint agreeing to spend the night at Steve’s; apparently he’s got enough space for a makeshift bed and one of them can kip on the sofa. Natasha and Sam head home soon after the damp incident; they’re the last of the guests to leave. After the mess is cleaned up and both Clint and Bucky have had a decent shower and borrowed clothes of Steve’s (the sleeves are a bit long and by the smirk Bucky gives him Clint figures he’s looking slightly ridiculous but it’s nothing he can’t manage) the four of them call it a night.

“Night, Bucky” Clint whispers from where he’s safely tucked up under a blanket on the sofa. Bucky insisted on him taking the couch and Clint couldn’t really argue.

“Night, Clint” comes the muffled reply from out of the darkness and Clint smiles.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It’s early in the morning when Clint wakes up; he’s barely had three full hours of sleep but he figures he can’t stay put and cautiously moves around the room to not disturb Bucky in his sleep and disappears into the kitchen to look for some leftovers from the party. Quietly humming to himself he rummages through the fridge and finally finds something he deems worthy as an early morning snack.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

From where he’s stood in the doorway to the kitchen Bucky watches Clint as he pads around and collects something edible. Bucky can’t help noticing. The way Clint’s hair is in total disarray as if he’s just got out of bed; well, that is the case but Bucky’s amazed by how messed up it can be regarding that it’s so short. The way Steve’s clothes don’t fit Clint’s smaller stature but make him look endearingly cute. The way he softly hums a tune to himself that soon develops into lyrics being sung in a hushed voice over the morning traffic that drifts up from the busy streets into the apartment.

“ _Oh simple thing, where have you gone, I’m getting old and I need something to rely on. So tell me when you’re gonna let me in, I’m getting tired and I need somewhere to begin.”_ Something distracts Clint for a moment and he stops, frowning at the clang the plate makes when it’s connected with the counter. It doesn’t do anything to disturb him in his light-hearted mood, though, and he resumes his singing, “ _And if you have a minute why don’t we go talk about it somewhere only we know?”_

“I don’t know that song” Bucky muses as he steps into the kitchen.

Clint spins around, startled by his sudden appearance. “Christ, Buck, you could have made your presence known.” He waves a finger at him and it’s supposed to be chiding but Bucky can’t help the laugh.

“I just did” he taunts and tousles Clint’s hair lovingly as he steps past him to pour himself a glass of water. He can feel the other man shiver and he silently smiles to himself.

“Why you’re up so early?” Bucky asks when he turns around again, glass on the way to his mouth and he glances at Clint over the rim.

Clint just shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep anymore. You?”

“The same.”

It’s a simple answer in the lame beginnings of a conversation but it feels right, _familiar_ even and Bucky wants the feeling to linger. They settle into a comfortable silence and Bucky watches Clint as the archer is occupied with his breakfast, his eyes staring through the glass of the window. The clock on the wall ticks away the minutes and Bucky suddenly notices that Clint’s expression has gone from calm and peaceful to clouded and worried. He narrows his eyes at him but doesn’t say anything, not wanting to disturb him for he looks as if he’s worlds away. Another minute passes and taking a sip of water Bucky decides to speak up.

“Hey, you all right?”

Clint snaps out of his trance, gently shaking his head. “Sure” he voices hoarsely and clears his throat, the movement of his head not quite matching his answer. “Just thinking” he adds after a moment’s silence.

“About what?” Bucky queries, trying not to sound pushy.

“About-” Clint begins but cuts himself off, thinks a second and then finishes his sentence, “’bout _Dick_.”

Bucky frowns. “Not him again.”

“Can’t help it.”

Setting down the glass on the counter Bucky shakes his head. “You shouldn’t waste your time on him. He’s not worth it.”

A sigh escapes from Clint’s lips and his eyes are still locked on the window, watching the opposite building and the grey sky that promises rain. “I know but… It was going well, you know? Six months into it and I thought, he’s the one. Now look where it got me.” His tone is self-deprecating and gloomy and Bucky can’t have that.

“It got you a new friend” he says, and he truly means it.

Clint looks up and Bucky offers him a fond smile. “I mean, think about it, this might never have happened. We might not have met yesterday and I would honestly regret if we hadn’t.”

Clint’s ears flush pink at his words and he casts his eyes downwards, his fingers fidgeting with the tablecloth. Bucky has noticed this as a habit of his and he starts to think that it’s adorable.

“I miss it, you know.” Clint’ voice is low, almost inaudible and Bucky might have missed it hadn’t he watched the other man carefully.

Bucky doesn’t ask, he knows there’s more to come.

“The simple thing. The real thing. It doesn’t have to be grand or anything, just _real_. Simple and real.”

Bucky nods. “I know what you mean.” And he does.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Clint doesn’t see Bucky for weeks and it’s starting to render him nervous and twitchy for he’s missing his company since the minute they said goodbye that morning after Steve’s birthday party. Now Clint deeply regrets that they didn’t exchange numbers so that he would at least be able to call him. That would have been the normal thing to do, wouldn’t it? He knows Nat’s probably got Bucky’ phone number but he’d die before he asks her. Of course Natasha is abso-bloody-lutely thrilled that he’s taken a liking to someone again although Clint doesn’t get tired of telling her that it’s purely platonic. They’re just friends and although Clint has the feeling that at the party it felt like more that might have just been a moment of weakness after the debacle with his ex. What he needs is a best mate, someone he can talk to about anything without having to watch out what he might and might not be implying. Something simple. Just a good friend. And he believes that in Bucky, he’s just found that. Like Bucky had said himself. If only he knew how to find him! The past few weeks have been boring and he feels as if something’s missing. For goodness’ sake, he’s only just met the guy, how is this even possible?

 

It’s just an ordinary day in December when he disembarks from the bus and steps out into the cold morning again, on his way to work. By the time he gets there his fingers are frozen despite the gloves and he shudders when he enters the warmth of the small building.

 

The day proceeds just as well, nothing really _happens_ , it’s just like all the other days that have passed since. Clint shakes his head with a small smile, shoving the thought of Bucky to the back of his mind. Archery demands concentration.

 

It’s early in the evening when Clint is gathering his belongings. No more students means he can leave earlier which he appreciates because over the day he’s been considering showing up at Steve’s after work (in the vain hope of finding Bucky there but he doesn’t let himself know that). Lost in thought he doesn’t realise he’s started humming again until he hears something at his back.

“Nat said I’d find you here.”

Clint swivels around, dropping his bag in the process and almost knocking over his quiver which is set patiently on the ground next to him.

“Bucky!” he exclaims when he recognises the man. The collar of his coat is drawn up against the cold and he’s got a scarf casually wrapped around his neck, his floppy brown hair caught in the loop. A few brazen strands have escaped, though, and are dangling at the side of his face. His eyes are cheerful and bright and Clint is greeted with a nonchalant smile.

In a moment of overenthusiastic joy Clint almost runs towards him and hugs him but he remembers himself just in time and spares them both the embarrassment. Instead he just smiles back, a little shy until he reminds himself that they’re _just friends_ and he quips, “You have quite a habit of disappearing without a trace.”

Bucky puts on an apologetic look and studies his boots while he explains, “I know, I’m sorry ‘bout that but some issues needed sorting out and that took a while.” And when he meets Clint’s eyes he repeats, and Clint can tell he truly means it, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right, never mind” Clint waves him off. “Just glad you’re back.” His voice might have cracked a little.

Staring at his fingers that have begun fiddling with the hem of his shirt again he wrecks his brain for something sensible to say but all he can come up with is, “So, er, why are you here?”

Bucky takes a breath and his eyes dart across the room when he answers, “For one, to see you demonstrate your outstanding skills” he winks at him and a smirk breaks way on his lips, “and after that, well, to ask you if you’ve got any plans for tonight.”

Clint swallows. “Er, no, I don’t have any. Rarely have any.” He silently berates himself for the nervous laugh that escapes his throat. But it’s the sad, embarrassing truth.

Apparently his embarrassment goes unnoticed because Bucky rubs at the back of his head, saying, “Good! – I mean, well, you know what I mean…um…” for a second he fumbles for words and this is the first time Clint sees him like that before he continues, “What I meant to suggest was that I, um, know a nice place, we could get dinner there if you like and just do whatever we feel like.” Bucky pauses, never quite losing his calm demeanour and looks at Clint, studying his features carefully. There’s a hint of uncertainty in his eyes, Clint notices, and his voice is tentative and gentle when he adds, his lips twitching into a sheepish smile, “Perhaps go somewhere only we know.”

Clint feels himself blush when he recognises the quote and finds he isn’t able to get out a single word whilst looking into those stunningly light coloured eyes that look grey in the light of day and blue at dawn and dusk so he casts his glance downwards, burying his slightly trembling hands in his pockets. “That sounds great. I’d love that” he utters, his voice barely above a whisper.

 

His brain is stuck in an infinite loop of the _He’s just a friend_ message when they leave his workplace together.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They end up having takeaway pizza in the freezing New York evening because the nice place Bucky knows had been cramped with people and just as they had waited for half an hour to get a table something apparently caught fire in the kitchen and one of the waitresses promptly dropped the dishes she was carrying, startled by the sudden shouting from the back of the restaurant. But instead of being mad Bucky had just laughed and dragged Clint down the road. They’d only rounded the corner when they couldn’t hold it back anymore and Clint had felt as if he would die laughing. The incident didn’t spoil their evening, quite the opposite, it made it even better and now they’re sitting on a small bench in a park, so close that their legs are touching and arms brushing every time one of them reaches for a slice of pizza.

“Lucky would enjoy this” Clint says at some point.

“Lucky?” Bucky shoots him a sideways glance, lifting a brow.

“My dog” Clint laughs, imagining Lucky wagging his tail and panting, craving that slice he’s currently holding. “He’d do anything for pizza” he explains.

“Quite the pizza dog” comes the comment and Bucky joins his laughter.

A few moments pass by, then he asks, “Do you enjoy this?”

Clint stops eating, blinks once or twice, slightly puzzled and then looks at him. His eyes find Bucky’s and the other man’s look is open, tender even. Clint finds something there he can’t find words to describe but he can tell it’s something he feels, too, deep down inside.

“I do” Clint whispers truthfully. “Yeah, I do.” For a moment he forgets his freezing fingers and the soft smile that appears on his face reaches his eyes when his look becomes distant, staring at nothing in particular. “I haven’t had a good laugh in years and it felt… liberating.”

His glance is met by soft bluish grey eyes and Clint melts at the charming smile.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They walk side by side, hands in pockets and snow-stained shoes trudging over the first thin layer of the fluffy white covering the streets and they’re just two friends taking an evening stroll. They laugh and share stories and to Clint it feels just like their first encounter at the party. It feels easy and he can do this. Simple, nothing complicated. He can get used to this. Just having Bucky around makes everything feel a little lighter and for once he actually feels like he can handle his sucking life.

At some point Bucky sneaks an arm around his waist and Clint tries not to show his surprise too obviously but he’s sure Bucky can feel the shiver that runs through his entire body despite the thick fabric of his winter coat and his cheeks redden in embarrassment. Bucky says nothing and Clint imploringly hopes that his face hasn’t betrayed him. He swallows hard around the forming lump in his throat and the feeling that he’s put down as a momentary weakness comes back with full force. He’s sworn off love, fully intending to never embark on anything again, and for once he wanted to be just friends, acquire a best mate but damn it, as much as he fears to admit it to himself, he can barely think straight when Bucky’s near (and the arm around his waist, the hand lingering where it most likely shouldn’t certainly doesn’t help the situation) and yet he enjoys his company so much. All of a sudden he realises why the past weeks have been so chokingly lifeless and grey. Clint can hardly breathe without him. It wasn’t the laugh that felt liberating, it was _being able_ to laugh so freely that made him feel so light. This is what Bucky’s company does to him and Clint reckons he doesn’t want it to stop. Only now he realises that his consequently denying his feelings for Bucky has actually intensified them. He swallows again, prepared to risk it.

“Bucky?” Clint has to know, he can’t bear pondering this question any longer. He’s tried hard not to entertain it for the whole of the evening but it needs asking.

“Hm?”

His heart is pounding way to fast but the longer he waits for it to calm down the more the opposite effect takes a hold on him. His voice sounds embarrassingly meek when he asks, “Is this… Is this a date?”

Bucky just smiles and his eyes are glowing in the light of a nearby streetlamp when he stops, turning to face Clint. “If you like to think of it as one.”

Clint feels his lips break into a wide smile and he shoves any doubt aside, wondering somewhere in the scarcely used, cobwebbed corner of his mind how the hell Bucky manages to remain so calm. Maybe, maybe love isn’t that bad and just maybe he might have fallen that tiny bit in love with Bucky Barnes.

Clint does it before he can think it through and think it to death. He just wraps his arms around Bucky’s neck and pulls him down into a chaste kiss. Bucky’s warm lips move softly against his as if he’s anticipated this and right now the world is beautiful. Clint feels Bucky smile against his lips and he can’t help but mirror it.

When they detach Bucky’s eyes are soft and Clint rests his forehead against Bucky’s shoulder, silently grinning to himself. Jackpot? Definitely.

“I might happen to love you, Bucky” Clint informs him, his voice sincere but he can’t get the teasing edge out of it that’s there for no apparent reason.

“You want to know how I’m feeling, leave out the _might_ ” Bucky returns as he wraps his arms around Clint’s back and draws him that little bit closer.

“You coulda said something” comes the muffled accusation, half swallowed by the thick fabric of the coat.

“I thought I was being obvious.”

Clint snorts. “You were being the guy that I briefly met at a party I was blackmailed into going to and fell in love with after barely six hours of knowing you and that disappeared out of my life without even leaving the tiniest hint as to where you’d bunked off to.”

Bucky laughs fondly and tussles Clint’s hair. “Well, that’s a speech.”

“Idiot.”

“I love you, too.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“You’re not thinking about Dick again, are you?” Bucky asks when Clint lies next to him, warmly tucked up under the covers, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling.

The shocked expression on his face when he turns to him makes Bucky laugh and he nudges him playfully.

“What? Hell, no! Dick is a dick. I’m thinking about you.” Clint’s eyes flicker between Bucky’s but they’re too close for a decent look.

A tauntingly lifted eyebrow is his answer. “Interesting.”

Clint nods, bracing himself up on one elbow, eyes never leaving Bucky’s. “You are.”

They stare at each other for what feels like ages until Bucky, eyes coloured with affection, finally leans over, closing the distance between them and claims Clint’s mouth, his flesh hand cupping his cheek.

 

And as his eyes slip shut Clint wonders how he happens to deserve this. He wouldn’t have thought that Keane would save him from being a miserable single prat for the rest of his life.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“See, I told you you’ll like him.” Natasha grins winningly when she finds out. (It doesn’t even remain unnoticed for 48 hours.)

Clint stands there, mouth agape, gawking at her. He’s never figured out, never even considered that the _someone_ Natasha meant when she called him that night was Bucky.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Feedback is always very much appreciated! :)


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